


Daddy

by MFLuder



Series: Kinktober [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Daddy Kink, It's For a Case, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Minor Roy Harper/Koriand'r/Jason Todd, Past Dick Grayson/Jason Todd, Past Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 09:11:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20945897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MFLuder/pseuds/MFLuder
Summary: Occasionally, Dick got the courage to ask why Bruce remained single; why Brucie hadn’t picked up Vicki again or Silver. He teased Bruce about joining Lois and Clark, suggesting neither would mind. Bruce, the bastard, simply looked at him calmly and turned the question around on him with a raised eyebrow. Dick had no answer that wasn’t something along the lines ofI’ve been in love with you for more than half my life you fucking idiotand so shrugged and left the man alone.





	Daddy

**Author's Note:**

> A day late, I'm sorry. I tried to get two done today, but this thing grew into a monster. Probably means most of the rest will be a day late, too. *headdesk*
> 
> Written for Kinktober prompt: _daddy kink_.

“Daddy, I’m bored,” Dick whined, practically throwing himself across Bruce’s lap. It received a rousing chuckle from the other older men in the room – and a wince from Bruce only Dick could sense. He smiled to himself. Served the man right.

It wasn’t the first time Dick and Bruce had posed as having some kind of relationship – sexual or otherwise. Everyone knew Matches Malone was a little queer. Yeah, the mobster loved women, but mostly, he loved brunettes. It allowed Matches to be included in any kind of sex trafficking. It also happened to be Bruce’s type. Not Bruce Wayne’s type – which was anything that moved, had breasts, and a pretty face – but _Bruce’s_.

Except for Dick. Dick seemed to be the one exclusion. Even _Superman_ was Bruce’s type. Dick had caught his partner staring after Superman’s ass enough times; though, who could blame him? Superman made straight men want to dabble and gay women…well, it didn’t make them less gay, but they at least appreciated his aesthetically pleasing good looks. Or so Donna had informed him, back in their teens.

Really, Dick shouldn’t be surprised that Bruce wasn’t sexually interested in him. He might fit Bruce’s type, but Bruce had raised him from age ten. He understood how someone who rubbed his back – however awkwardly – when he was suffering from the stomach flu, or who gave him his first sex ed talk, or had to inquire after his homework and scold him when it wasn’t completed, would not be attracted, regardless of his age now. It was that innate incest taboo that most of society followed and the reason those who didn’t and got caught typically ended up in jail.

It didn’t matter that Bruce wasn’t his father – wasn’t even his actual father figure; out of the two, Alfred had been more fatherly to him, despite the comfort over a porcelain bowl Bruce gave. He’d always seen Bruce as a mentor, as a hero, as a partner. Bruce, though, had only ever seen him as a child; first a good one, then a rebellious one.

Bruce wouldn’t go to jail if they were sexually involved. It wasn’t the law or society keeping him away; he simply wasn’t interested.

Dick, though. _God_, but was Dick interested.

Bruce might consider him a son or son-figure, but Dick’s first wet dream had been of Bruce. His kinks were everything Bruce was: powerful, dark, detached, firm, angry, cold, praising. He was a mess of contradictions and that mess was Dick’s kink, Dick’s type.

Dick had good relationships with women. Had loved Kori and Babs. They always said it wasn’t Dick that was the problem – but he knew. He was broken. Pining for a man who would never want him, who was just as good as those women.

Jason, smirk strong on his face one night, told him he wasn’t broken, just “a kinky motherfucker” as Jason let him call him daddy and writhe on his massive cock, hand tight in the white streak of hair that was the best remembrance of his rebirth.

Slade had never been a healthy relationship – wasn’t even a relationship per se, just a lot of angry fucking and transference – but it had been good. Until Slade got disgusted with him and told him to run back to his actual daddy, _boy_, because he wasn’t going to be a replacement anymore.

Dick had never considered the meta’s feelings; hadn’t thought feelings were something Slade had, until too late. Until, when he told Jason about the break up, Jason rolled his eyes and laughed, called him a moron, reminded Dick Slade had two kids and his love might be fucked up but he wasn’t _Lex Luthor for fuck’s sake_ – and gone back to Roy and Kori with whom he’d managed to find something more permanent, better for him than Dick.

In the end, Dick had pushed everyone away who might have been good for him because he couldn’t get over a crush he’d developed at thirteen. He might never have wanted to call Bruce “Dad,” but he wanted someone to take care of him, romantically holding onto the feeling of Bruce’s hand pressing on his back as he puked out his guts, of the care and kindness in the face of Dick’s embarrassment when he told him to always use condoms, continuously ask consent, and to never have sex with someone if it was going to hurt them. He sentimentally clung to the stern look of disappointment in Bruce’s eyes when he told Robin he wasn’t allowed on patrol because his geometry homework hadn’t been completed and didn’t Dick know that was just as important as the criminals. Which, no, Dick didn’t think it was as important. It wasn’t like he was going to solve a mystery via Pythagorean’s Theorem. 

How wrong he was when he was fifteen and The Riddler pulled a bank robbery that involved a whole lot of math puzzles. Dick began to appreciate Mensa members a whole lot more.

These days, after Jason told him to grow the fuck up – wasn’t that fucking hilarious, coming from the little pipsqueak Dick had ignored when he became Robin, the man who killed eight henchmen in a bid to get Bruce to pay attention to him, the little kid who grew big and spanked Dick because he fucking wanted it – Dick stayed single and relatively partnerless aside from a few hook ups when he got especially horny and was scared he’d do something he’d regret the next time he saw Bruce. Other tall gray-haired men didn’t mind who Dick imagined when he asked them to “fuck me, daddy,” the way Slade had.

Bruce too stayed single, after his last bout with Selina. It had left them both bruised, even Dick could see that, even as his possessive side crowed that maybe it was the last time she’d have her claws in him. Batman threw himself into League business, spending more time with Superman – to which that same possessive side of Dick reared its head and he and Clark had grown more distant because of it, despite Dick’s childhood hero worship of the man. He threw himself into Batman Inc., making sure Tim and Cass and Steph were doing well. He spent more time with Damian, his actual son, now fifteen, growing into himself, and ironically, finally losing some of his bratty edge, though none of his arrogance.

Dick didn’t mind that interaction. Found himself both strangely jealous and fond. His twisted mind considered them somewhat co-parents. Damian still came to him when he had questions about emotions and rules and societal interactions; Dick treasured those moments.

Fucking _broken_. Considering himself a parent of Damian with Bruce even as he wanted to call Bruce something similar – if wholly different – to Damian’s own honorific for him of “Father.”

Occasionally, Dick got the courage to ask why Bruce remained single; why Brucie hadn’t picked up Vicki again or Silver. He teased Bruce about joining Lois and Clark, suggesting neither would mind. Bruce, the bastard, simply looked at him calmly and turned the question around on him with a raised eyebrow. Dick had no answer that wasn’t something along the lines of _I’ve been in love with you for more than half my life you fucking idiot_ and so shrugged and left the man alone.

So, no, this wasn’t the first time Dick had been on Bruce’s lap. Robbie had occasionally clung to Matches, part worshiping sidekick, part boy in love. Matches had indulged him and after, Bruce had been able to pat Dick on the head – usually metaphorically, once, shockingly enough, literally – and walk away, his boundaries viewing himself as Dick’s foster dad never questioned.

Robbie had simply gone to Dick’s room, jacked himself off, and called out Matches name.

But tonight was the first time it was Dick and Bruce, if less _Dick and Bruce_ and more Dick _Grayson_ and Bruce _Wayne_; playboy billionaire and his adopted ward. Still an act, but so close to the truth that Dick could feel discomfort radiating off Bruce like an aura, even as he fondled Dick’s upper thigh with a lackadaisical smile and no one in the room was any the wiser, fully buying into the rumors that had existed once, so long ago, when twenty-something Bruce Wayne brought home a ten-year-old boy to his empty mansion.

Now, with the gray at Bruce’s temples and the fact that Dick had maintained his pretty face and smooth skin where it showed, they could fit in at one of Gotham’s many elite clubs. This one catered to rich older men and their various wives, husbands, and flings with an atmosphere of cigar smoke, baroque furniture, fox hunting, local politics, and, apparently, money laundering for Black Mask.

Bruce had, surprisingly, first suggested they hand it off to Jason, given his former connection with the crime lord, but Dick was the one who noticed the pattern of older men with young trophy things and he put his foot down, stomach rolling at the thought of Bruce and Jason working this one together, stating they’d let Jason deal with Mask, but he and Bruce would deal with the club.

The matches were an unspoken but hard rule. The club featured some of the prominent Gotham men, but excluded others when they brought the wrong aged partner. It wasn’t only a place for affairs, as he’d found after the first ten minutes of talking with a woman his age – she was married to the man twice her senior, and she seemed to adore him, truly. But perhaps the club had been started by someone who felt uncomfortable elsewhere with his young mistress, even if Dick couldn’t imagine why, given society was much more likely to accept an older man with someone younger than vice versa.

Bruce had simply shrugged when he’d posed the question.

That said, Dick had seen at least one woman, gracefully aged into her sixties, with a man Dick’s age trailing after her. He wondered if that was love or money. Either way, he mentally high-fived the woman.

He and Bruce had casually been attempting entrance into the club for a month before they were accepted. It was a fine line to walk. It had to be Bruce Wayne; Matches didn’t fit in this scene and unless in such a disguise, anyone would recognize Bruce Wayne. But it wouldn’t do for Gotham at large to think Wayne was actually fucking his adopted son. They’d figured out, pretty easily, that part of the money laundering was done through blackmail from the club to the patrons. While a significant chunk of the people _were_ here with wives and husbands or paramours, another chunk were with affairs or simply didn’t want to be outed showing such a kink. Like the graying judge of the twelfth district who was goosing his date on her perky, barely-eighteen ass.

Dick made a mental note to inform Jason of that one. Make sure he didn’t move onto under eighteen girls.

Whoever had hoped to pass along Bruce Wayne’s salacious story to Mask to make a profit would be disappointed, though. After tonight, the owners would find a jammer had blocked all their footage – and anyone else’s curious iPhone – of the evening. Rumors about Wayne and his ward would continue to be just that: rumors.

For now, though, Dick was draped against Bruce’s side while Bruce talked business, trying to determine just who the owner was so they could do their shakedown later, scare the criminals straight, or at least put the fear of Batman around every corner. The scene was making him horny while he watched other, more scantily clad young trophies cling to their partners; he was mostly horny for the man underneath him, but type he may have, Dick found many people attractive and a well-endowed blonde woman and a pale muscled brunet had caught his eye, ramping up the desire simmering in his veins.

He also was the only one doing nothing but pouting. It wasn’t a sex room, but the others weren’t as shy about showing their affection in the darkened room. Dick was getting curious glances from the brunet who had caught his eyes and he decided to interrupt Bruce. From the conversation, they’d gotten what they needed. Seemed one of Mask’s newish – after Jason’s house cleaning a couple of years ago – lieutenants was currently the owner of the place. The manager, though, while partaking in the theme, had no knowledge just who the real owner was.

He knew Bruce – Batman – would let the manager off easily, nothing more than a warning to be careful who he worked for. Hell, that trip might even be done by Nightwing while Batman delivered Mask’s man to Hood as agreed.

He yawned this time as he exclaimed again about his boredom. 

“Might want to pay attention to your boy, there, Wayne. Unless you’re looking for a new one. We could trade, perhaps?” asked the man with white hair and olive skin who held the man who Dick had been glancing at.

“Daddy,” the man whined in a teasing voice. Apparently, it wasn’t an honest offer, though Dick knew Matteo Lugione had a wife his own age at home.

Surprisingly, Bruce’s hands tightened on his hip and thigh, pulling Dick’s ass closer to his crotch, their bodies now flush. “Definitely not.” Then he amended, looking at the boy toy, “no offense.”

“None taken, Wayne. You’re not my type, either,” the younger man laughed.

Dick took advantage of the new position and twisted in Bruce’s lap so that his legs were swung over the plush arm of the large chair they were sharing. He fiddled with the first few buttons of his white shirt, unbuttoning them so that the top of his sculpted pecs showed, but none of his scars. He let his hand curl there.

Then he looked over at Matteo and his boy and the other couples in their direction and stated calmly, “I don’t share.”

A few hoots and hollers from the other younger halves of the pairings hid the quiet growl Dick was sure came from Bruce. He was also pretty sure he must have imagined the tightening of the arm that had been slung over his hip after he moved. Still, he reached up.

Dick pressed his lips against Bruce’s. They were flat, lifeless.

He leaned forward, sub-vocalized into the other man’s ear. “Play along, Bruce. They’re watching.”

This time, when he placed his lips on Bruce’s, the man surged beneath him, quickly taking over the kiss and devouring him, twisting his upper body until they had a better angle. It was wet, controlling, deep, savage. Dick thought Bruce might lick his tonsils the way he was sucking his tongue, licking his teeth, biting his lip. Dick’s hands, free of his own volition, found their way to tangle in Bruce’s dark hair, strands soft, despite the product. One of Bruce’s hands swept down, landing on his lower back, pinkie just grazing the top of his crack, hot, despite the layers of under and suit wear.

It was over far too soon.

“Better?” Bruce whispered, glint to his eyes.

“Better,” Dick agreed. If his voice was a bit breathy, could anyone blame him?

One man, who was coming back from the bar, clamped his hand on Bruce’s shoulder as he passed by. “Well, you two do put on a good show.”

Curran, a lawyer at one of the two best law firms in the country and the man with the busty blonde on his lap spoke in their direction. “How many years has it been, Bruce? I’m surprised to see such passion when he’s been in your house for going on twenty years.”

“He keeps me young,” Bruce rumbled. His hand had remained on Dick’s ass and he now took the opportunity to nuzzle Dick’s neck.

He tried not to faint from excitement.

“Aww!” the blonde in Curran’s lap cooed. Dick reappraised her and after a moment, his eyes widened. He recognized her. She wasn’t as young as she appeared, youth standing out mostly to Curran’s age. He was positive now she was Dixie Perry, a singer who performed at small venues and gay nightclubs across the country. Her actual name was Dixie Smith-Samuels and was, in fact, Curran’s wife. The lack of extreme extensions and cheetah print had thrown Dick off for a bit. She was as beautiful without the stage makeup as with.

Bruce shifted, as if to get up. “Gentlemen. Everyone. I think we’re going to take our leave now. My boy’s getting anxious and I have a board meeting at an indecent time tomorrow. Noon.”

Another round of laughter.

One of the other men, the lieutenant that no one else in the room knew was the actual owner on paper, spoke up finally. “At least we now know your secret, Brucie.”

Bruce looked at him sharply. Some of the others turned to him with frowns on their faces. Dick wondered at this odd collection of people.

“I just mean,” the man said with a smarmy smirk, “when they ask if your event is blonde, brunette or redhead. Now we know it’s a brunet.”

“Hmm,” Bruce rumbled.

He stood, and Dick slid from his lap, then nearly started when Bruce moved him closer, going in for another kiss and pressing his hand possessively on Dick’s flank.

He knew it was for show, but that didn’t stop his body from sporting a sudden semi. Bruce’s hand wouldn’t let him pull away and spare them both the embarrassment. He struggled not to grimace into the kiss. 

When Bruce pulled back, his eyes looked sad for a split second before turning cool and detached. It was time for Batman instead of Bruce Wayne.

“Hope to see you again, Dick,” waved Dixie. “You two are a breath of fresh air in here.”

Dick waved back, a little flattered and a little star-struck. Next time she performed in town, he was taking Tim; it’d be good to get him out for anything other than patrol and charity events.

They exited the VIP room and then the club, the whole way with Bruce’s hand lingering on his waist, guiding him like he really was his sugar daddy. Like he was taking him home to _take care of him_.

Alfred picked them up, his expression as droll as usual when they went on such ops. “I’ve already transferred the files you sent via watch to Master Jason. He stated as soon as he returned from the Outlaws’ vacation, he’d be dropping in on our Mr. Mask.”

Dick sighed and cradled his chin in his hands, staring out the limo window. Jason was on an island in the Bahamas drinking Mai Tai’s and fucking two stunning redhead heroes. Of course he wasn’t going to cut that trip short.

At least he was getting some, instead of pining for the man right next to him. Bruce sat close enough he could feel the heat of him through their pants. Strange, given the size of the limo. It did nothing to help with Dick’s unfortunate arousal.

“You alright, Dick?” Bruce asked.

“M’fine,” he mumbled. “Just want to go on patrol. I’m feeling antsy.”

“I could tell.”

He shrugged. He could feel Bruce’s eyes on him, assessing, but he didn’t give a shit. He simply adjusted to better hide how the line of his pants was currently being ruined.

Alfred dropped them off at the Batmobile where it was prepped three blocks away in a parking garage that WayneTech owned, and thus all cameras were monitored by the cave, rather than city CCTV. Both men changed quickly, putting on their night gear outside the car and backs to each other. They made their way back to the club via rooftop and waited for the last patron to leave, only the manager and the lieutenant left in the office, along with some cleaning staff in the club portion.

In less than ten minutes, the manager had pissed himself and promised he’d make sure it never happened again and Batman had collared Mask’s man. He left to bring him to Mask as a warning while Nightwing stayed behind to find and destroy illicit cameras and show the manager how the “owner” had maintained an entirely separate payroll that went directly to Mask.

“Get a forensic accountant, next time,” were his final words to a gaping and grateful man.

He found his way back to the Cave, still feeling excess energy despite stopping two muggings and a small jewelry store robbing on the way. Batman hadn’t returned yet, so Dick stripped down and started working on the pommel horse and bars in the main part of the cave.

He’d developed a new routine by the time Batman returned and showered. He sat down at the computer to write his report and Dick strolled over. His eyes focused on the blunt fingers that somehow seemed graceful as they flew over the keys. Bruce’s hair was damp from the shower. He hadn’t bothered to put anything more than a pair of sweatpants on and Dick was only in athletic leggings.

Even half-dressed, he held an air of command, of age, of wisdom. It made Dick want to fall to his knees.

He resisted, instead swinging a towel around his neck and leaning over the computer, watching the words appear on the screen. He turned, leaning his ass against the console.

“I’m proud of you, by the way.”

“Oh.” Less of a question than a statement.

“Actually letting Jason handle this one. I mean, I know you didn’t give up complete control or anything but—”

“You were part of that, you know.”

“What?”

“I would have done this with Jason. Let him decide the tactics. Shocking, I know. But you insisted.”

“I—.” He considered. “I did.”

Bruce looked up from his typing. Stared at him with those calculating eyes, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Why was that, Nightwing?”

Dick rubbed his neck, feeling a blush forming. He could usually hide it but lying to Bruce was something he struggled with; he could lie to himself better. “I was trying to save you and Jason the embarrassment. I mean, could you imagine Jason in there with those men? In your lap?”

“But you were okay with it?”

Dick shifted again, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling suddenly naked though Bruce had seen him in less clothing than this. “A job’s a job. I don’t mind putting on a show.”

“Were you saving me or Jason?”

He rolled his eyes, trying to lighten the mood. “I wasn’t…I mean, both of you. Like I said. He shouldn’t have to make out with his father figure, y’know?”

“But you can.”

“You’re not my father, Bruce.”

“Jason’s said the same thing to me.”

“Fine, whatever. Guess I should have let you both kiss and then watch you dance around each other in another fit of anger and suppressed feelings while you don’t talk to each other for another three years.”

Dick tried to leave, tried to control what once had been desire and now was embarrassment warring with anger, rising to a boiling point in his blood. Bruce caught him, though, and maybe he hadn’t wanted to leave because Dick let himself be drawn back and not only back, but to be thrown off balance – something that never happened to a Flying Grayson – and ended up in Bruce’s lap. His back would be bruised from where he hit the console on his way down tomorrow, but it didn’t faze him now.

“I recognized the access point, remember? That it was a bunch of couples who featured someone older and someone younger. Sugar daddies and mommies. Jason would never have let you play that part, okay? Not _you_. Not when he was the sugar baby.”

“You’re saying he might have been willing to play the sugar daddy part.”

“I don’t want to talk about Jason’s sexual kinks,” Dick spit out, some part of his brain marveling at the turn of events, absolutely flummoxed at his own bravery, that this was even a conversation Bruce was allowing.

“No. Let’s talk about yo—”

Dick cut him off with a harsh kiss. He didn’t let Bruce pull away at first, instead shoving his tongue past thinned out lips until he forced Bruce to submit, to open to him. He didn’t want control, that wasn’t his thing, but if this moment was all he got, then he was going to fucking take before he was kicked out of the manor, kicked out of Gotham, banned.

He lifted himself off Bruce’s lap onto his knees, changed the angle so Bruce’s head was tilted up. He twisted his fingers in the dark hair, made darker by the cave lighting. One of his mentor’s hands came up and rested on his hip, palm flat. A gorgeous noise shook them both and Dick lessened the kiss just enough in hopes he’d hear it again.

“Dick, Dick,” Bruce murmured, using the softened onslaught to break apart, using his hand. To push him away. “Stop. You don’t want this. You’re confused. It was the atmosphere. The others in there. I know you and…” he paused.

Dick leaned back, confused. Bruce closed his eyes, opened them, and began again. “I know Slade broke up with you. Over a year, now. It’s him you want. I don’t want you to do something you regret. Maybe I can call him, speak on your behalf—” He cut himself off. “I don’t know why he’d leave you, but if there’s anything I can do, say, I can fix this for you, Dick, I—”

Dick laughed. Then, as he was laughing, he began laughing harder, clutching at Bruce’s arms, trying to get a breath in.

“Slade? I don’t know what’s funnier—” He sucked in a breath. “That you would speak to Slade, your enemy, a trained mercenary, so you can convince him to come fuck the man you consider your son, or that you think this is about Slade. _Slade_.”

He broke into another peal of giggles, feeling like he was high, tripping into an insane, upside down world where Bruce and Slade were friends and Dick wanted Slade, not Bruce.

“Dick.”

He wiped at his eyes; the absurdity had literally made him cry. Bruce was still trying to push him off his lap, though not very hard. He gripped his thighs around Bruce’s tighter, leaned forward.

“Bruce. Slade broke up with me because he knew I didn’t want him. You want to talk about transference! Slade knew. He knew it was _you_, and he got sick of it and dropped me like last week’s trash.” Dick laughed again then sighed. He let his head fall to Bruce’s thick shoulder.

“Now you know.”

He couldn’t read Bruce with his head down and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. He was torn between being embarrassed about his secret and relieved that, after all this time, it was out there.

“Dick.”

He grunted but refused to look up. He could exist in this liminal state forever, if it meant he didn’t have to stare at Bruce’s kind but parental disappointment look. He knew Bruce wouldn’t be angry; if anything, he’d be cold, withdrawn.

He felt Bruce’s large hand under his chin. When he forced himself to look into Bruce’s eyes, there was nothing dismissive in them at all. Instead they reflected a deep blue, almost dark enough in the light to appear black. Dark enough that he inhaled a breath, felt a quickening in his pulse.

“Me?” Bruce asked, low pitched. Surprised.

Feeling a tremble of hope, of excitement building in his gut, he hissed out “Yes,” and leaned back into his partner’s space and grabbed Bruce by the jaw, pulling him into a kiss.

This time, he didn’t hold back.

The kiss consumed him, made the hope burn into his core as an accelerant, flaring from the inside and traveling through his lips. His fingers tingled, his lips were numb, his tongue alive with Bruce’s taste. Something like cinnamon, something like the apple he’d eaten before they’d left. The rest just hot and spit and _Bruce_.

His thighs clenched tighter and when he rocked forward, he felt the shock of a thick erection dig into him.

He ripped his mouth away to toss his head back and gasp, “Bruce!”

He felt Bruce’s mouth on his neck, scruff on his chin scratchy, a shock of rough against his soft skin. Hot air as he opened his mouth, whispered, “My boy. My beautiful boy. _Richard_.”

“Daddy,” he hissed, taking the chance after tonight, letting every single one of his desires coat his voice. “Take me to bed, daddy. Take care of me, fill me, be mine.”

With seemingly no effort, Bruce hefted them both out of the chair, tucked Dick’s legs around his waist, and went to the elevator. Dick clutched him the whole ride up, peppering him with kisses, swallowing down every ounce of affection Bruce lavished on him, numb with the knowledge that Bruce hadn’t turned away, that he could have this, that he’d been wrong this whole time, maybe.

~~~

Lounging in the large master bed, thoroughly satiated, Dick turned to look at Bruce. He moved the sweaty, graying hair away from his eyes. Bruce’s eyes were hooded but soft, blue the color of a sapphire. He hadn’t pulled away. Yet. Dick knew it wouldn’t always be this easy, but after all this time, he was willing to cling to it as long as he could.

“You know. You’re going to have to warn Damian in a few years.”

Bruce’s brow crinkled.

“Just sayin’. Slade isn’t into kids, but he’s just his type.”

Bruce grimaced. “Slade killed his grandfather at one point.”

“And I once got his son killed. On accident.” He shrugged, the movement moving from his shoulders to his hips. He grinned when he caught Bruce following it with his eyes. “He still fucked me. They both got better. Damian’s gonna be good-looking and he’s a Bat.”

“What.” Delivered with zero inflection.

Dick laughed. “You think I was the only one? At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if Slade had a crush on you and fucked us to get to you. He and Jason fucked before we did.”

Dick watched as Bruce’s face grew progressively redder, Batman coming out from behind his eyes.

“I think the only reason he and Tim haven’t is because Tim’s mostly into girls.”

“Mostly.” Somehow, his delivery was even flatter this time.

“You raised quite a rag-tag group of queer Robins and Bats. Birds of a feather and all.”

“I think Slade and I need to have a conversation.”

He chuckled again. Reached out and caressed Bruce’s cheek, rubbing the scruff the wrong way to feel it prickle against his hand. He curled himself up, smaller, fitting into the space left by Bruce’s hips. “Pretty sure Stephanie and he did after me,” he said, coyly.

“Don’t. Say. Another. Word.” Bruce delivered it gruffly, but in that moment, despite the gray, Bruce looked younger than Dick had seen him in years, a smile on his face as he moved quick to attack, holding Dick flat on the bed, knees on his thighs, hands on his wrists. “You’re gonna be a good boy, right?”

“Yes, _daddy_.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're Bravo trash like me, you might recognize who Dixie and Curran are modeled after.
> 
> Follow and chat with me [on tumblr](http://mf-luder-xf.tumblr.com)!


End file.
